


Skin & Bone

by Naudiz



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Red Templars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-06
Updated: 2015-06-06
Packaged: 2018-04-03 03:34:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4085140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naudiz/pseuds/Naudiz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yvad Trevelyan and his beloved Dorian have gone on a private trip to the Emerald Graves. But what was supposed to resplenish Yvad's physical and mental strength goes awry when a band of Red Templars attacks them ...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Skin & Bone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [slugette](https://archiveofourown.org/users/slugette/gifts).



> This is the first fic written as a prize for my giveaway, won and prompted by the wonderful slugette. I hope you enjoy!

»Vishante kaffas, amatus!«, Dorian huffed. »Do you really have to admire every single flower on this path?«

»Are you jealous that I don't admire you, love?« Yvad stood, idly strolling over to his lover. Long, slender fingers stroked sun-kissed bronze skin before they reached up and placed a prophet's laurel in raven hair.

Dorian raised his eyebrows incredulously. »You do not plan to make me wear a flower crown as if I were a little girl, do you, amatus? Because if so«, he wrapped his arms around Yvad's hip and pulled him closer, »I would have to punish you for this audacity.«

Yvad giggled, placing a tender kiss on his lover's lips. »You really should not spend so much time with Bull. He's ruining you.«

»Ruining me? Ha! As if this would even be possible. Everyone knows I am perfect in every sense of the word.«

»Oh, are you, my love? You will have to show me.«

A smirk, flashing pearl-white in the bright midday sunlight. »You are a nasty, nasty man, Inquisitor. Let's go back to the Gracevine camp, shall we? I can prove my perfection so much better in a nice tent, supplied with grapes, cheese and -«

Yvad gave him no chance to finish the sentence. He grabbed the Tevinter by the collar and kissed him, hard, his tongue not begging for entrance but _demanding_ it. He felt his lover tense under his touches, pressing their bodies even closer, fingers digging into his hair to hold him steady, to hold him near.

The moment seemed to last for an eternity, before it finally shattered into a prism of ragged breath, silent moans and whispered _I love you_ s. Fingers trembling with desire, Yvad began to undress his lover, tugging at buttons and laces and belts.

The world around him faded into ambient noise when the jacket fell to the ground, revealing bronzed skin and taut muscles, both gleaming with sweat. _Maker's breath_. Sometimes, he still could not quite believe his luck. That this magnificient man was truly his, in these insecure, dangerous times. He would be grateful for that until the end of his life.

He was about to get rid of his own clothing when he heard a noise. His magical senses were suddenly attacked by series of rapid red flashes. Pain flared up in his upper back, white-hot against the sudden cold of his skin. With a strangled noise, he fell to his knees, eyes clouding over with a blood-red veil.

Somewhere beyond the pain, he heard Dorian scream. 

 

* * *

 

»Amatus!« Dorian rushed to Yvad's side, falling to one knee beside him. Blood was already pooling in the grass beneath his lover, colouring it an ugly reddish brown. His face seemed carved from marble, too-white, almost ghoulish in the bright midday sun. Each ragged breath was followed by a cough that left his lips bloodstained.

 _Internal injury._ Dorian had seen it often enough back in Tevinter. It was a path to certain death which only a skilled healer could alter. _And he was none._ It was all he could do not to howl like a wounded beast.

Something hissed through the air, cutting it with a razor-edge. Dorian jumped to his feet, abandoning Yvad's hand for his staff, which sprang into his hand at his sharp, beckoning gesture. He whirled around, eyes bewilderedly searching for the enemy. The air around him was shimmering, bristling with unseen activity. There was a reddish tint in the sunlight that filtered through the leaves, entirely unnatural.

_Red Templars._

He hissed when a man suddenly burst out of the artificial shadows, lunging at him with alarming speed. Only narrowly did he dodge the red lyrium spike that aimed for his heart, managing to land a hit on his attacker with his staff blade. The Red Templar shadow growled, a sound that vibrated deep in Dorian's body, filling his very veins with fright.

The thing jumped at him again, hot blood flying from its wound, spike-arm grazing his shoulder when he spun on the spot, trying to avoid it. A spell fell from his too-dry lips, fire spilling from his fingertips in white-hot tendrils, engulfing the shadow. It screeched, faltering under the raging flames. Dorian finished it with his staff blade, chopping its head off with a brutality completely uncharacteristically for him.

But the fight was far from over.

The shadow's screams had attracted more Red Templars, luring them out of the woods and onto the little clearing. They circled him like hungry vultures, at least a dozen of them, armed with menacing-looking swords and spiked shields, their armour glowing in an unholy red light.

Dorian glanced back over his shoulder to where Yvad lay unconcious. The puddle of blood beneath him was constantly growing bigger, and only the laboured heaving of his chest indicated that there was still life left in him.

He had to get him out of here, back to the camp. Fast. Or the Herald of Andraste would simply bleed out like a pig on the slaughtering block. He would not, _could_ not let that happen.

As if these thoughts were a signal, the Red Templars took off running as one man, a flood determined to overwhelm him with sheer forces.

»You will not get him!«, Dorian yelled, his voice drowned out by the feral growls and screams of the enemy. He spun on his heels, desperately weaving a barrier around Yvad to shield him from the enemy blades.

The flood was on him the moment he finished the spell, swallowing him whole.

 

* * *

 

Scorched flesh and the smell of ozone heavy on the air.

These were the scents that brought Yvad back to conciousness, hauling him out of the darkness that engulfed his senses. His eyes snapped open, revealing a shimmering green light wrapped around him. Magic tingled on his skin. He furrowed his brow in confusion. _A barrier?_

Then he heard it: Dorian's desperate screams, rising above the unmistakable noise of battle. The monsterous growls of Red Templars, the aura of the corrupted lyrium tearing at his sanity.

»Dorian!« His voice was but a whimper, dying in his throat. Clenching his teeth, he worked himself into a sitting position, the pain almost rendering him unconcious again. Blood seeped through his half-unbuttoned robes, making the ground beneath him slippery.

But he had no mind for that. All that he saw was Dorian, surrounded by at least a dozen Red Templar Knights, spinning his staff at dizzying speed. He did not cast any spells; even from this distance, Yvad felt that he was low on mana, exhausted to the point of almost passing out. The Red Templars were already breaking through his defenses, his barrier weakened by the physical exhaustion. Soon, they would just strike him down, butchering him on the spot.

»No«, he whispered, his hands digging into the blood-soaked ground. There had to be something he could do, anything to save Dorian. He could not let him die. He could not ...

Realization stuck him like a hammer. _Blood._ There was a chance. A small chance to save his one true love.

His fingers dug further into the earth, magical senses expanding, reaching out the power that lay hidden in blood soaking the greenery. It hurt, more like anything before in his life, invading his senses with a coppery smell, the laughing faces of demons flashing past his mind's eye while his mentor's voice recited the Chant of Light, back in the Chantry of Ostwick.

 _Abomination!_ , screamed a Templar in the Hinterlands, stabbing a mage in the stomach with his sword.

No more.

The world around him exploded into fiery brightness as he unleashed the power stirring beneath his fingers.

 

* * *

 

All noise died abruptly as the Templars surrounding Dorian were torn to shreds. Skin and bone flew in every direction, painting the trees a sickening red. A fine red mist developed where blood was released into the atmosphere, bereft of the body it belonged to. Lyrium dust and forbidden magic charged the air with an almost electric power, generating small sparks where they met.

It took him a moment to realize what had happened.

Yvad had used blood magic.

»Amatus!« The staff fell from his suddenly powerless fingers, clattering to the ground with a noise he barely noticed. He rushed to his lover's side, taking his lifeless body into his arms, cradling him. »Amatus«, he whispered, tears welling up in his eyes. »Look at me. Please.«

But those magnificient violet eyes remained closed.

Perhaps for forever.


End file.
